The execution of Darth Vader
by NonSoCheNickMettere
Summary: AU set some months after ROTJ – Saved by Luke from the second Death Star, Darth Vader is sentenced to death by the Alliance.
1. Three days before execution

**THANKS** to **Jean Genie** for the beta-reading of the original Italian version of my fiction.

Although I did my best with the translation, please note that English is a foreign language to me.

 **DECLARATION** : This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course.

 **NOTE: As much as I tried to avoid graphic scenes, this fiction is still about a death sentece and so some passages and issues could be disturbing for sensitive people – you are warned!**

* * *

 **Three days before the execution**

* * *

"In the name of free people of the Galaxy and the Council of the Alliance for the restoration of the Republic, after examining evidences and witnesses, this Court judges Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, guilty for the crimes of coup d'état, missed compliance with interplanetary norms about treatment of war prisoners, unlawful imprisoments, war crimes, numerous tortures, slaughters aggravated by racial hate, numerous murders, numerous murders aggravated by trivial reasons, religious genocide, planetary genocide and enviromental damage on planetary level. Therefore, we sentence him to death, which has to be executed in three days by removal of breathing apparatus".

Tears of joy, clappings and clamour follow the reading of the sentence, as if that's a fortunate surprise. I can't help but smile bitterly. This trial outcome was predictable since its very start: was it really needed to question hundrieds of witnesses to know that Darth Vader is a war criminal and deserves nothing but death?

A morbid nosiness spreads around. What is to be expected now? An attempt of escape? Or maybe some esoteric telepathic choke of the judge? It wouldn't be really so hard to break out even here, inside the crowded courthouse. Alliance isn't well experienced to take into control a Force user: obviously its officers don't know they must administer proper drugs and use fitting electromagnetic restrictions. So, besides the usual jailers, all the countermeasures are a couple of snipers, not even hidden. Indeed, there's just one individual into this courtroom who could be a real obstacle to flight, but I highly doubt that he would perfom properly his duty in this exact moment.

Anyway it doesn't matter, because Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, means to do nothing at all! And, sure enough, I can see a slight disappoitment is forming for his lack of reaction.

As a matter of fact, beyond doing nothing, I can even feel nothing. I've been ready for this day since months ago and death is a much better prospect than the life of regret I will expect as an alternative. Frankly, I'm enough worried for the coming piercing pain that will be caused by the removal of the breathing apparatus and I find disturbing the humiliation of my awful scars being shown to enjoyed witnesses. But – honestly speaking – can I complain if I compare this to how _I_ dealt with my prisoners?

Plus, in this moment, I have more severe concerns than the end of my despicable life.

I can feel Luke's stunned grief through the Force. It looks like I can give this boy nothing but grief and sorrow, even when I'm standing with him.

 _Why didn't you leave me dying on the Death Star, my son? If I hadn't fainted, I would have begged you to take my mask off in that moment and everything would have been easier. Your tears would have dried by now._

I keep my brooding for myself and I'm careful not to speak in his mind, so that he doesn't turn back to me. I neither look for him among the crowd. I don't want to draw attention to him, not more than he has already done by himself in the last months for the absurd purpose to achieve an advantageous verdict for me. I told him not to witness and not to unveil kinships that were better left hidden. I tried to persuade him that no one of the jurors would get confused by scholarly theoretical lucubration about the Dark Side, profecies and balance of the Force. But I've never figured out a way to make him obey me and my turn back to the Jedi hasn't changed a lot by this point of view. At least, he had the common sense not to involve his sister and he left her alone in her safe disguise.

I turn to her; there's publicly no relationship between us and so I don't risk to compromise her. She's staring at me and, as always, I can't read her feelings. She has never come to see me in jail – at least to tell me whether she hates me – and I haven't the slightest clue about how she really feels around me.

The Force flows as an impetuous river in Luke, resoundingly deafening. But it's peacefully stagnant in Leia, quiet and subtle as the water in quicksand – you don't notice it at the beginning, but it proves dangerous and invincible when you are already too far.

I haven't heart to probe her mind. I know all too well that her shields are impenetrable – I tested them to the extreme. Suddenly I'm reminded of a young prisoner's face twisted in pain. I feel as I get stabbed at once in middle of my chest and I close my eyes. But I still hear her painful screams, while my cold and detached voice asks again where the rebel base is.

I turn away and I open again my eyes brimming with tears. Only three days left before my daughter's torturer will be finally executed.


	2. Two days before execution

**THANKS** to Jean Genie for the beta-reading of the original Italian version of my fiction. Although I did my best with the translation, please note that English is a foreign language to me.

 **DECLARATION** : This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course.

 **NOTE: As much as I tried to avoid graphic scenes, this fiction is still about a death sentence and so some passages and issues could be disturbing for sensitive people – you are warned!**

* * *

 **Two days before the execution**

* * *

If Luke Skywalker was really anything like me, now he would be killing the guards posted outside my prison and just taking violently the father he wants so badly. But I thank the Force he is given much more common sense than I have ever had, while I feel him to deposit his lightsaber at the entrance and quietly let himself be searched.

Standing up, but heavily leant on the wall in front of the door, I look outdoor at the blue sky from the narrow window – a small luxury lacking in the cells on the Executor – and I wait eagerly my son's visit, while I feel him nearing.

When at last the door opens, just to lock immediately at his back, I scrutinize him. His composure can't really hide his inner turmoil and two dark circles under his eyes declare visually the weeping I felt in the Force during the last night.

Wasn't he so sorrowful, I would laugh at his effort to find out the right words to formulate a suitable greeting for my plight. I needn't probe him to understand what he's thinking – "hi" seems too casual, "good morning" uncalled, "I'm so sorry" inappropriate to his supposed role as conforter.

I choose to be merciful and I get to the point: "How are you?"

"Me?" he answers amazedly.

I sigh and the vocoder delivers an unsettling sound, but Luke can understand it righlty by now. "I felt you last night."

He lowers his guilty glance, but I don't give him time to pronunce his pitiful excuses about having shielded his mind. I bow slighly my head and I rebuke him kindly: "You should know by now that you aren't able to keep me totally out, young one."

He half turns away, as if he wants to hide from me. Not for my playfully scolding of course; but because he felt his illusory composure to slip away.

I watch in sorrowful affection a Tatooinian farmboy struggling with all his strengths to keep an attitude like Obi-Wan Kenobi's. I can have repudiated the Sith and I can be ready to repentance for each of my sins, but I still think there's something basically cruel in Yoda's teaching.

I wish I could help him, let him know he needn't feign inside this cell. Falteringly I near him; it's twenty-four years since I last try to comfort someone and I feel ridicolously clumsy. I unsurely place my hand on his shoulder. He doesn't reject me, rather he turns to me. I move more boldly my hand on his hair over his nape and I pull him kindly to me. He doesn't fight me and he leans his face on my arm.

"Forgive me," he says.

But now I don't just understand. "For what?"

"I've come to support you," he explains.

I smile secretely behind my mask; he hasn't still understood that it's _not me_ who needs support at the moment. "Then, we can fake, just for once, that I'm a father deserving this title and with any moral authority to give you some good advice." It's both a worderful and merciless fake: it gives me to perform my duties although for a short moment, yet – exactly because of that – it sharpens the regret about what it could be and it wasn't just for my fault.

"You didn't even try to defend yourself," he blames me, while from my upper point of view I see a tear runs on his face.

"There was no reason to defend myself: charges were even lacking." How many times did we already argue like that? As much as the vocoder allows me, I try and soften my voice, while I make him to swallow such a bitter pill, "You must just to accept that is fair as painful as it may be for you."

He still avoids my glance, keeping his head low. "I thought–"

"They would forgive me?"

He sighes. "I could save you," he explains.

"You've already done," I reassure. And it's true in the only way that matters for eternity. "But the Galaxy needs justice and my hands drip with blood."

"Like mine."

"Never, ever tell that again!", without a second thought I order him abruptly with harsh voice– too much like the way I acted as Darth Vader.

He stiffens instinctively, rose his face and stares apprehensively at me, swallowing. _Oh Force, how brutally I instilled such fear of me in him!_

I remove my hand from his head breaking our contact and I walk some steps away, to soothe his distress as much as possible. I ensure to speak softly and I reason: "It was a combat situation, you weren't the attackers and we gave you no other options. We wouldn't have stopped there: Alderaan and Yavin were just the beginning. From Tarkin to the trash compactor operator, we all were guilty; there weren't innocents on the Death Star. You can't compare that to–" My voice cracks, while my life of crime flashes before my eyes: the newborn tusken who was sucking, the frightened Jedi child who was asking my help, my heavily pregnant wife– I _can't_ break now. "All I did," I manage somehow to finish.

He looks away, lowers slightly his head and nods. This half acknowledgement of truth gives him some tiny peace about my plight and I hate myself a little more for what I'm going to do to him.

I walk to the other side of my small room and I lean back to the wall. I cross my arms on my chest, looking for the strength to go on. "I instruct my lawyer to officially request the Court that you will carry out the sentence."

His eyes jerk up and he walks some steps far from me, until his back is against the wall. Disbelief, betrayal and reject: I felt already these wild feelings in him, I saw already them into his eyes. But he's more stoic now and his "No!" is much more restrained than a year ago, although not less harsh. "How could you?", he asks angrily.

Albeit my request sounds senseless and pitiless, I know my reasons are good. During my trial, Luke antagonized too many people inside the Alliance Council and that isn't right. They are wary of him, just while he would need all their unconditional trust and help to rebuild the Jedi Order. When they see him to kill Darth Vader, they will begin to forgive him. But he isn't ready now to pay attention at that, yet I know he will take into consideration my more selfish reason: "I haven't been able to look directly at anyone since twenty years ago. During the short minutes I'll survive without my breathing apparatus, I will able to watch clearly only the face of the person that will take my mask off. Just for once let me look on you with my own eyes."

His anger fades, but his features stiffen, torn between the horror of the action itself and the duty of fulfill my last wish. "I'll never kill my own father," he states at last.

"Someone will do anyway and, if it won't be you, it will be someone who won't comfort me in my last moments."

He shakes his head, stuck between two unacceptable alternatives.

The siren signals the end of the visit and the door opens. Unexpectedly relieved, Luke moves from the wall and goes out, casting back at me a last defiant glance I'm all too well acquainted with.

Although he went out in a much less theatrical way than Bespin, just like one year ago I find myself wondering whether I will see him again or I've just alienated him from me forever.


	3. One day before execution

**THANKS** to **Jean Genie** for the beta-reading of the original Italian version of my fiction. Although I did my best with the translation, please note that English is a foreign language to me.

 **DECLARATION** : This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course.

 **NOTE: As much as I tried to avoid graphic scenes, this fiction is still about a death sentence and so some passages and issues could be disturbing for sensitive people – you are warned!**

* * *

 **One day before the execution**

* * *

When will I learn to trust people around me? I don't even have enough time left to try.

I spent a sleepless night thinking I wasn't going to see Luke anymore. Yesterday I was so afraid by his reaction that I had neither the heart to probe or reach out to him through the Force. Yet also this morning, on time as always, I feel his presence at the entrance of the jail.

Standing up, I'm waiting anxiously for him. Whatever his choice is, whatever he will say, I'm resolute to part from him getting along. His compassion is the only thing left for me and I don't want to lose it.

The door opens.

He comes in and bestows me a stiffened slight smile – at last this must be the only proper greet he was able to come out with. Yet now I don't know what to say too.

He bows his head and surprisingly he seats on the small chair in front my bed. He did never so in all past months, but today he needs support. I look at him curiously, but I can't cross his glance, lowered to stare his hands grasping his knees. He collects his thoughts and at last he sighs, turning back to me. "I requested and achieved that your body won't be shown. It will be given me and in private I will arrange a honorable funeral according to Jedi custom."

My eyes wet at the unexpected mercy. I have already assumed the desecration of my corpse, exposed to public scorn. Not trusting my voice at the moment, I just nod, but I know he feels my gratitude. I try and pull myself together again: I wish him knew I also attempted to do something for him, although I failed as always. "I can't even refund you the cost of the pyre. I ask my lawyer to check whether something of my property has been preserved to leave you a bequest, but everything I owned has been confiscated. My armour is my only possession now."

He shakes his head. "I never wanted a bequest," he says maybe more bitterly than he means, "I wanted a father."

I can't answer him about that. I orphaned my children even before their birth.

He looks away again and he stares back at his hands. "Leia will seat among witnesses."

I don't know what to do about this news. I will able to cast a glance at those eyes that I guess are the same color as Padmè's, but what will I see inside them? "To watch his tormentor's death?" I ask in anguish.

"Formally that's so. But actually she will be there to support her brother." He closes his eyes to contain his grief. "I agreed to execute the sentence," he adds with broken voice.

In spite of everything, I smile behind my mask – now I know I can go through. Luke will understand too, when his mourning days will end. But at the moment I owe him encouragement. I move closer and I seat on the bed in front of him.

He opens his eyes, but he still avoids my lens.

I put my hand on his right shoulder. "I know you are strong enough for this. Otherwise I wouldn't ask you for."

"I wish you just stopped testing my limits over and over again."

I refrain from reminding him that I won't be able to hurt him anymore since the day after tomorrow. But there's still something I must absolutely do. Something that was always left unsaid, almost taken for granted, because I didn't know how to address. And I don't know even now, but I must. I move my hand down in a kind of clumsy caress from his shoulder to his forearm and when I reach the junction between his flesh and his prosthesis I wrap my hand around it.

His heart quickens obviously and he looks at my severed prosthesis, whose wires are just covered down a plastic cap (who would pay to fix an artificial limb of a man sentenced to death for war crimes?) "I did the same," he states.

"Mine was only an other prosthesis."

"I didn't know."

I shook my head. I refuse the comparison: he tried hard not to fight, while I was tempting him. "You wanted just protect your sister," I stress. "Maybe in an unfitting way for a Jedi," I concede a bit dryly.

He doesn't comment on, but at last he gazes straightly at my lens and I understand that deep down he's aware of the difference.

Now I've got his attention and I look for suitable words. "I could tell you it was for gut reaction after your saber tapped on my shoulder. Or that I chose the lesser of two evils between your hand and your head. But that wouldn't be true." I hesitate. But I _must_ go to the bitter end, as hard as it is to enunciate my words. My voice shakes. "The truth is that I was angry, because you don't bow to my will, so I decided to punish you in a way you wouldn't be able to forget for your lifetime. I… I beg your forgiveness." I'm aware he already granted me – or he wouldn't seat here. But I can't depart without saying clearly I'm sorry.

He watches my mask while he scrutinizes me through the Force. I don't fight him; I wish he felt my deep regret. When he has probed enough, he pulls back his feelings. He sighs, frees himself from my weak hold, he stands up and turns, walking in front of the small window. I don't sense him annoyed or angry, but I begin to wonder whether I demanded too much.

"In weeks after Bespin, I made up so many excuses for you. I wanted to be understanding." He shrugs. "I looked for any feeble reason of your brutality, because I wasn't able to forgive. If you had one single justification, then I would have just to understand you and not to forgive a senseless cruelty. Understanding would have freed me from the duty of forgiveness." He bows his head towards his fake hand closing and opening. "Then one day I gave up: I just accepted you had chosen deliberately to hurt me and I had to be strong enough to forgive you." His tone is calm, but his words are harshest to my conscience. He turns back to me, but he still stares at his hand mesmerized. "Whenever the prosthesis needs maintenance, shock on nerves causes pain."

I nod slightly; I know better than anybody what you endure to keep prosthesis in working order. I wanted him never forget my anger for his lifetime and I've achieved my goal. There isn't a repentance that can undo the effects.

"Every time I feel anger," he goes on. "Every time I must choose again to forgive. Forgiving isn't a temporary emotion or a heroic act. It's an apprenticeship full of repeating, frustranting days." He raises his glance and his eyes pierce me. "And forgiving yourself is as well."

I understand what he means, but I refuse. "I'll _never_ forgive myself what I did to my children. It wouldn't be right."

But _he_ wouldn't be Luke Skywalker, wasn't he ready with a response. "It wouldn't be right if you made up excuses. But forgiving yourself is an act of will you must perform not to wallow in self-pity."

I stand up too. He asks really too much this time. "You want the impossible!"

To my astonishment, he calms down and a mischievous smile appears on his lips. "I leave the discussion about this detail to someone else," he states cryptically, "he has the whole eternity to nag you with his wisdom."

What's he talking about? "Who...?"

The siren signals the end of the visit and the door opens.

Suddenly his smile disappears.

Tomorrow we'll meet, but he won't be allowed to utter a single word. I walk in front of him, I put my arm on his shoulder and I move him closer in a sort of faltering half hug. He leans his head towards me and I stroke softly his hair. "Thank you for everything," I whisper.

"Father, I don't want to leave you," he begs.

But there's no more time for that. "Tell your–" I stop, seeing guards coming in to ensure that the lingering visitor goes out. I withdraw my arm.

Luke looks at me, he nods that he understood and he reassures me: "It will be done." Then, he obediently follows the guards and goes out.


	4. The day of execution

**THANKS** to **Jean Genie** for the beta-reading of the original Italian version of my fiction. Although I did my best with the translation, please note that English is a foreign language to me.

 **DECLARATION** : This fiction is written just for fun and I'm not making money with it. Characters and Star Wars galaxy belong to Lucasfilm and Disney, of course.

 **NOTE: As much as I tried to avoid graphic scenes, this fiction is still about a death sentence and so some passages and issues could be disturbing for sensitive people – you are warned! Obviously this chapter contains also a major character death.**

* * *

 **The day of execution**

* * *

When the door opens, I feel that my resolution to pay the price for my crimes is faltering. I haven't changed my assessment of the situation – I do know it's just fair – yet suddenly I'm afraid to feel my death so near. To avoid it, I lived a simulacrum of life for twenty-four years and meanwhile I plentifully dispensed around what I averted. But now I want to face what's in front of me all the way, as I faced hundrieds of battles during my life.

The guard before me enters the room and I follow him, not forcing those back me to stimulate me. We march in a short parade in front of the sitting witnesses' row, all Alliance top dogs. They want me to die humiliated in front of my enemies, of course. I can identify Mon Mothma, Rieekan, Madine, Ackbar – and Leia. Did Luke tell her something yet, as he promised yesterday? I cast her a brief glance, but I don't dare to look really at her face.

They gesture me to sit on the chair placed in front of the witnesses. My stomach drops and I can hardly control my legs. I hope the quiver of my body isn't obvious out of my armour. Did captain Needa feel like that, while he was telling me that Millenium Falcon had disappeared off radar? No, he felt worse; he was innocent.

I don't want to be forced by the guards and somehow I can compel my body to sit down maintaining – I hope – some dignity.

It's done! I sink into my chair and, still protected by my mask for a few other moments, I close my eyes, while the guards begin to fasten me with straps. I broke free from similar bonds in the past, but I haven't the same anger anymore. I pray the Force I won't until the end.

This operation takes some minutes in an awkward silence, broken just by my breathing apparatus. I wish Luke was already here. I sense his presence into the building, but he is completely withdrawn. He's getting ready.

Finally they have finished. Now I'm totally immobilized and my heart is hammering. I try to conquer my fear threatening to overwhelm me and I open again my eyes. The guards have stepped little away from me and I can watch the witnesses' row.

Must I tell something? How should I say goodbye?

I can't think of anything and so I keep silent.

Where is Luke?

What are we waiting for?

What's going on?

Unexpectedly a soft mind touch in the Force gives a bit of peace to my anxiety. It isn't Luke's usual presence and in my confusion I need some moments to recognize Leia. I turn to her, watching her seemingly unflappable face, while her soft contact is still calming the whirlwind of my mind. There isn't exactly love in her action, nor precisely forgiveness, but the human compassion I didn't show her when she was my prisioner.

I don't want to compromise her, but I must – really must – tell her something. "I beg your forgiveness", I say generically to everybody, but I know she understands.

Nobody answers.

The door opens and Luke comes in. I turn to him: he is focused and calm, there aren't tears in his eyes. I have known he's strong.

He steps in front of me, but he says nothing, as the rules dictate. He leans down to me and places his hand on my shoulder in a kind of last caress – after taking away my mask, he won't be allowed to touch me until a doctor will declare my death.

Then he lets go my shoulder and pulls my helmet off. I can feel the fresh air on the back of my head.

His hands bustle about my nape until I heard the click that unfasten my mask. I breathe a last deep breath inside my apparatus and immediately the dazzling light blinds me. When I can focus again, I see Luke has moved back some steps, as he is obliged to do. He still holds my mask and he is dismayed by my appearance. But it doesn't matter. I smile weakly at him contemplating the pale colors of his face. Now I know it was worthwhile.

The chest tightness cruelly warns me that my contemplation won't last long. I look past behind him and I see Leia's face. She's beautiful! I thought her eyes and her hair were even darker, but Padmé's black was slightly lessened by my light colors.

I try and breathe in, but my inner chest burns like the lava on Mustafar.

Panicking, I look back at Luke. His features stiffen as he watches me with compassion.

I try helplessly to inhale again. A pitiful wheeze comes out of my mouth and the pain becomes unbearable.

I feel totally dizzy. I look for a reference point staring at my son's understanding eyes.

Suddenly the pain decreases a little, but my lung function doesn't improve.

Luke is soothing the pain with the Force, but not helping my organs, in order not to lengthen uselessly my agony. I have known he's strong.

His face blurs and a bright light calls me. I don't fight and while earthly justice takes its course, I'm embraced in an eternal forgiveness I don't deserve.


End file.
